Monday, September 29, 2008


  • I'm wanting you to know I know
  • I'm wanting you to know that I'm sorry
  • I'm wanting to contact you to say that sorry
  • I'm wanting it not to be so late in the game that my apology would be meaningless to you
  • But I'm also wanting to know why?
  • I want to understand, get me. I don't condemn you, it's your choice and you have the right to develop however you want
  • You have the right to want to be different
  • You have the right to change yourself to become the mirror image you want to see
  • I guess I want to know if it's my fault, which is basically a very selfish reason for thinking about you so much after this time
  • But, such a fundamental change...I can't let it go. I want to understand why.
  • I want to understand how, and the fascination for it revives my interest in you which again, I'm a little ashamed of.
  • I'm wondering where you've gone and I want to know if you've come back to your roots. Will it be easier for you here? Will your family accept you, now you are longer Jeff?
  • I have no right to want. I gave that up many years ago when I hurt you so pointlessly. I'd like to think that if I'd known what was truly going on in your head that I would have treated you better, not been such a bitch. In truth, I know that I would have acted the same way - seventeen makes for shallowness that only bitter experience can cure
  • I don't love you. But I do wish you well. And I want you to know that, sweetheart. I want you to know that you'll always be intrinsically good, no matter what skin you wear. I want you to know that you're a wonderful person who has had probably one of the most tragic lives I have ever known.
  • I just want you to know I'm forever sorry. And I wish you well.


Monday, September 22, 2008


I'm bed ridden and furious.

That's all I wanted to say, really.

GD has: a spastic rib (literally, it's in spasm); in bed yet freezing cold; trying to type whilst lying flat, which ain't no picnic; banned from working, reading (what?!), watching any television, standing upright for any length of time; totally skint so can't even waste money on Amazon and very, very grumpy about it all. OH! But I am allowed to eat so I'm turning into a cheese and crumpet monster.

Friday, September 12, 2008

Gimme More?

I’m a little subdued at the moment. There’s a kind or reversible envy going on in my household: he’s back at uni and I’m not. He hates uni and I’m crying out for educational stimulation. You’d think that less than a month after submitting my final dissertation I’d be enjoying the break: far from it. I’m pining. Pining for academia.

Being somewhat of a solipsist I have examined my feelings towards. This. It stems from early failure – I was the first person in my family to attend university, ergo I was also the first person to be thrown out on my ear at the end of year 2. The fact I did have a spectacularly wild and abandoned second year (lived at home year 1, moved out year 2) cut no mustard with the family: I was deemed an academic failure. Worse, I had wasted good opportunities to better our social standing.

The day I told the Mother I recall sitting on the local playing field with my good friend Helen who found the whole situation very amusing (she’s knows my mother very well: angry little squaw being an appropriate description of her). I sunk a quarter bottle of vodka (the cause of my downfall that year) on that field before breaking the news and letting the wrath of the disappointed smash me into thousands of tiny pieces.

My transgression was never forgotten. I have always been a failure, defined by teenage excess. No matter what my latter achievements have been I cannot be allowed to forget I bombed out (and had my head stapled to boot).

Thus I’ve become stuck in a cycle of defining my worth by education. I worked through an HNC (two years of an undergraduate degree), four years of a different degree, then took a full time masters. Didn’t seem enough, so when I started working again I took my second part time masters over two years, duly completed last month. Now I’m hankering after a PhD. Don’t know what in, can’t afford it but still…

Perhaps I need a new definiter (does that word exist…I don’t think so!). But then I look at what I have – a job that I adore three days a week that gives me the leisure to indulge in creativity and writing. I give money to people and get paid for the pleasure. I help people on a daily basis to make their lives and communities just that little bit better, that bit more supportive. I don’t get paid a huge amount, but what I get reflects the fact that I am a professional who works for a charity. I certainly don’t care about earning more, and I realise that’s quite a rare gift.

I’m not materialistic (unless it comes in book form). I don’t need objects to make me happy. I’ve been scraped along the bottom of the barrel in my personal life, usually by those I love the most, but I’ve come out smiling and with my backbone reinforced.

So why the emptiness? Why the longing to be on campus, mooching about the library and drinking tea on the lawns? Sigh…I’ve actually started to read philosophy text books when commuting…who, why, what? Hard questions for an atheist.

GD is: peevish. Spending too much time on the Whitby Goth Forum. Searching desperately for the one bit of paper with the name and number of the one person she desperately needs to call which has of course disappeared into the ether; balancing the textbooks with Dexter volume 2; listening to 30 Seconds to Mars cover of Kayne West’s Stronger which is surprisingly good; now onto the fifth and final series of Six Feet Under – hurray / boo…

Tuesday, September 09, 2008

Loving Russell Brand

Normally I don't. Nor do I love MTV. However, I do love Russell just a little bit more following his MTV 'outburst'...

Russell Brand says it like it is

In other news GD is: headachy, whingy, waiting for the telecom engineer to switch the TV back on, listening to Clannad of all things, wondering quite how she's managed to overspend quite so much this month, and thinking she really ought to be doing something creative but all she wants to do is eat. Oh, and don't forget the new boot lovin'...